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The Beast
A conversation with Zoey Hunsinger forces Simon-G294 to reflect on the true driving force behind his ability to survive against all odds. ---- “So that’s it?” Zoey made a face. “You just killed everyone and walked away?” “Well, not everyone,” Stray admitted. “A few got away. And I didn’t exactly walk. It was more of a limp. My leg was pretty messed up after that explosion.” He couldn’t help but smile at Zoey’s irritated expression. “You look disappointed. Expected more?” “That’s how all your stories end. Were there ever any times where you just sat down and talked it out with someone?” “Once or twice. Y’know, I don’t usually go looking to pick fights. People have a problem with me, they try to kill me, I kill them first.” He shrugged, tapping the battle scars indelibly etched into his SPI armor. “When it comes down to fighting, it’s you or the other guy. Kill them before they kill you, then move on. I keep trying to teach you that, even with all the backtalk you always give me.” She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, you’re a big, tough supersoldier who doesn’t care about anything or anyone. I’ve heard that one even more than the ‘kill everybody’ one.” “Suit yourself.” He swiveled his chair back around, turning to face the Chancer’s viewport and the glistening space beyond. There was something troubling in her gaze, something he wasn’t sure he was prepared to deal with. She thinks it’s easy for me, doing it over and over again. I can’t tell her how scared it makes me, knowing I have to endure it all again. And now, it’s not just me. Their lives are on the line, too. Without looking around, Stray could tell that he was alone in the cockpit once more. Zoey had gone back down to the galley, probably to grill more satisfying stories out of Gavin. He leaned back in the pilot's seat, arms folded over his armored chest. Funny, how used he was to having layers of hardened panels between him and the rest of the galaxy. After a while, you just stopped noticing it, even if no one else ever did. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, letting the darkness creep up as he fell back into the even sharper darkness of his past. No, he could not tell Zoey about his fear. Because then she might see beyond that fear and discover the beast lying in wait beneath his armored shell. The beast that was his true armor, the beast that stirred at the scent of violence, filling him not only with terror, but joy as well. It whispered to him in the darkness, at once terrifying and mesmerizing. The beast was there, waiting to help him die again, just like he'd died that day in Philadelphia, when he’d become a traitor on Mamore, when he’d been augmented and the day he'd agreed to become a Spartan in the first place. He did not survive because he was faster or stronger or smarter. He survived because he did not—could not—reject that beast. How many times, he wondered, could he die—and yet not die? Someday the death would be final. Someday it would be all over... "But not yet," he whispered. The beast purred in agreement. “Not yet.” Category:The Weekly